


Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down

by Raelynn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Blindfolds, D/s, Domina Molly, F/M, Molly wants to help a friend, Mutual Masturbation, Orgasm Denial, Restraints, Sherlock thinks this is purely physical, Sub Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 06:18:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7746394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raelynn/pseuds/Raelynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock comes to Molly to ask her for a favor.  It's a big one.  He can't turn back to drugs to deal with the demons in his head.  But there are other ways to quiet his spinning mind...</p>
<p>(All the credit to Miz-Joely for the title!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written anything in the D/s genre before, so go gentle with me. If I screw something up, let me know. Gently. :)

“Molly, I require your help with something.”

Molly looked up from the paperwork she was making her way through in her small office outside the path lab. It was little more than a closet, and Sherlock standing just inside the closed door made the room seem all the smaller.

“Sure thing, Sherlock, just let me finish this up, then I’m free for the rest of the afternoon. Do you need help with an experiment?”

“Not as such. It’s going to involve a conversation, so come to Baker Street once you’re done here?” He turned, one hand on the doorknob, waiting for her response.

“Um, sure, yeah, okay. We can’t just do it here?”

A smirk came across Sherlock’s face, but he schooled his expression quickly. “No, it’s...not really work-appropriate.”

Sherlock swept out of the room, leaving a very confused Molly Hooper in his wake.

oOo

An hour later, Molly was standing on the stoop of Baker Street. She pressed the bell, and was rewarded quickly with the sounds of Sherlock coming down the stairs. He threw open the door. “Molly! Come in, thanks for coming.”

“You’re...welcome?” said Molly, confused. Since when did Sherlock thank her for anything? She closed the door behind him and followed him up the stairs.

They came into the flat, and Sherlock nodded toward the couch. “Sit. Tea?”

“Sure,” said Molly, taking a spot in the center of the sofa. “I’m super confused, I have to admit, Sherlock.”

“I know, all will be revealed momentarily,” he called over his shoulder, heading into the kitchen. Molly heard the click of the kettle and the rustling of mugs (and then the water running, as Sherlock hurriedly cleaned one or both of them. Molly began to question her acceptance of tea in a flat that generally resembled a hazardous waste dump.

The tea Sherlock handed her looked drinkable, however, and Molly decided to go for it. She sipped as Sherlock spun the desk chair around, sitting down facing her from the other side of the coffee table.

“So.” he said, setting his (untouched) tea down on the table. “We’ve known each other for a while.”

“Seven years?” said Molly. “Something like that.”

“Something like that,” echoed Sherlock. “As you know, I keep my personal life extremely private.”

Molly narrowed her eyes, “No offense, Sherlock, but as far as I can tell you don’t HAVE a personal life.”

“Exactly,” said the Consulting Detective. “And that’s exactly how I like to keep things. No one who doesn’t need to know knows anything about my personal life. John didn’t, even when he lived here.”

“Wait,” said Molly, confused. “You’re saying you DO have a personal life?”

“While there are those on the spectrum of sexuality who have no sexual needs, I am, regrettably, not one of them.”

Molly took a moment to drink this in. “Okaaaaay. So what’s this got to do with me?”

“While I have no need for romantic attachments, I find that I do have sexual needs. Very specific sexual needs.” Sherlock met Molly’s eyes boldly. Molly turned crimson and looked away, focusing on a spot just over Sherlock’s left shoulder.

“Again, what’s this got to do with me?”

“You find me attractive, but your schoolgirl crush on me has faded over the years as you’ve gotten to know me.”

“Okay?” Molly shifted in her seat, wondering where he was going with this.

“As you know, for a period of time I used recreational drugs to quiet the storm in my brain. Intellect like mine is not suited for this modern world of daytime telly and celebrity gossip. I find the world to be a confusing rush of information overload. Drugs slowed my brain to a manageable speed. A regular speed.”

He paused for a moment, and Molly could see the wistfulness on his face. Sherlock Holmes may have been clean since the Fauxiarty incident, but she would never fool herself into believing he didn’t miss it.

“At other times in my life, I found other ways to clear my head. Given my recent...backslide on the one front, I’ve decided the prudent course of action here is to bring back my secondary coping mechanism.” He paused, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say.

“Molly, I need someone to dominate me. Sexually.”

Molly opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She couldn’t find word to form, but Sherlock kept talking, saving her from having to have some sort of response to this.

“Normally, I would never dream of asking someone as inexperienced as you to top me. But I know my needs and my limits and what works and I feel like they are all within your reach, if you’re interested. I’ve taken the liberty of preparing this.” He pulled out a flash drive and set it on the coffee table. “In it, I’ve documented the sorts of things I find...helpful. Read it over, consider it, do your own research. Or leave it here on the table and walk away, but in any event, I expect your discretion. I do not reveal these things to you lightly.”

Molly stared down at the flash drive, and then met Sherlock’s eyes again. He continued. “Again, I will reiterate: I have no need for romance in my life. This is not a dating relationship. I do not demand monogamy from you, however, you will have it from me. I have no need of any outside dalliances if we can make this agreement work. At any time, if you find that you can no longer continue, that will be that, and we’ll move on. I don’t want to prevent you from finding someone you can actually spend your life with.”

Molly continued to stare at him.

“Anyway, it’s all spelled out on the drive. Take it, or don’t. Accept, or don’t. I know I’m asking a lot of you.”

Sherlock stood, and made his way toward his bedroom. “If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume that’s a no. I won’t bring this up again unless you do.”

The door closed behind him, and Molly stared at the drive for a full five minutes before scooping it up and dropping it into her bag. She stood, and let herself out of Baker Street, hailing a cab back to her own flat.

oOo

Molly left the flash drive in the bottom of her bag for almost a week. Every time she thought about taking it out and plugging it into her laptop, she stopped herself. It was so overwhelming and she still wasn’t quite sure that Sherlock had actually been serious. Some part of her expected her to open the file and find a video of Sherlock telling her the whole thing was a joke.

But she found herself back at her flat after drinks with Meena on a Saturday night, and somewhere in the bottom of those mojitos she’d found some courage. Digging the flash drive of her bag, she plugged it into her computer and opened the drive.

One text file, named “Sherlock.”

She clicked and opened it, and began to read.

_Molly,_

_Thank you for trusting me enough to open this file. As I promised, if you aren’t interested, this will never be mentioned again. (And it won’t change anything between us. I value your friendship, obviously, or I wouldn’t have asked you this in the first place.)_

_As I will have explained to you, drugs were one way I dealt with needing to shut my brain off. Being dominated is the other. Drugs, however, are easier to get my hands on than someone I can trust - not just with my secret, but with my body, my mind, the very soul of who I am._

_The following file explains things in detail, but for a quick overview to gauge your interest: I require pain, I require humiliation, I require being used. I need to believe that my only worth is in another’s pleasure. I need, to use an expression, to be knocked down a peg and not be “Sherlock Holmes”. When I enter subspace, I can relax, I can let go, I can stop my brain from spinning. The world gets quiet. The world shrinks down to a pinpoint of pleasing my Dom._

_Before you ask, no, I am not capable of going to a professional for this. Both my reputation and my own attitude won’t allow this. I would never submit to someone I didn’t respect, someone I didn’t feel was worthy of my submission. No random person could meet that for me. I believe you can._

_While I require sexual release as a part of my sessions, I do not require access to your body. I leave that in your (capable) hands to decide upon. It is not unwelcome, however._

_Below you’ll find some information about my particular likes and dislikes. I have only a few hard limits - nothing outside of my flat or yours, unless previously discussed and agreed upon. No blood, urine or feces. While I will provide to you my latest round of clean STI tests, if our sessions are to include intercourse, condoms must be used. I will provide you with my preferred brand upon request. All bruises must be somewhere I can hide under my usual clothing. My safeword is Cyanide._

_And under no circumstances whatsoever should anyone know of our agreement, including the Watsons, Mrs. Hudson, or God forbid, my brother._

_As I will have explained to you, I am not looking for a romantic attachment. We are friends, and I am asking you to do this for me as a favor between friends. Our sessions will start out once a week, scheduled at least a week in advance, with an understanding that cases can and will get in the way. When that happens we will reschedule for a mutually agreeable time._

_I know all this is a lot. Read over the material below - some of it is cut and pasted from books on the topic, some are my own personal experiences with what works and doesn’t work for me. Obviously, your needs and comfort level will be taken into account when deciding on what our sessions will include. I would not ask you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with - if I’m being honest, if you’re not into it, it isn’t going to work for me anyway. I need to know that everything that’s happening to me is for your pleasure._

_I look forward to hearing from you, but understand if I don’t. Thank you for reading._

Molly skimmed the rest of the file. None of it seemed too crazy - she’d played at some of this stuff with lovers before - nothing serious, but she’d been on both ends of this sort of playtime. She suspected Sherlock had deduced that about her, or he’d have never approached her.

She closed the file and shut her laptop, grabbing her phone and making her way into the bathroom to get ready for bed. Just after she climbed into bed, she fired off a text to Sherlock.

**Opened your file. Started reading it - got through your note and skimmed the rest. Not disinterested, but need more time to think about it.**

The reply came back almost immediately.

**Understood.**

Molly plugged her phone in and curled up into bed, her mind spinning. Sleep would not come easy tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone was so nice about the first chapter, and I had this one ready, so here's a little Friday treat for you all :)

Molly spent the next week researching.  She read over Sherlock’s notes, she filled her Kindle with books about these kinds of relationships.  She did a lot of soul searching.  Would she be okay with having access to Sherlock’s body, but not his heart?  Would it tear her apart to be involved in something so intimate with the man she, if she were totally honest with herself, still loved?  

In the end, she found herself sitting with her phone, her text app open and her conversation with Sherlock on the screen.  They’d been discussing the results of the experiment from his latest case.  True to his word, since her text saying she had been looking over his file, he had never so much as hinted at the Baker Street conversation.  Molly laughed to herself.  “If anything, he deserves a reward for being so patient,” she said aloud, her thumb hovering over her phone screen.

Finally, she fired off the text she’d known in her heart she had been ready to send for days.

**I’m in.  I’ll send you an email with my own requirements. Let me know if you accept, and we’ll set up a date and time.**

She was totally unsurprised when his response came back within seconds.

**I’ll be watching for it.**

Molly reached for her laptop, and began to write.

_ Sherlock, _

_ First off, thank you for trusting me with your secrets. Second off, thank you for believing that I can help you with this.  I think I can. You had said that I’m inexperienced, but I’m fairly sure you know that I’m not wholly inexperienced with such things. Granted, they’ve always been within the confines of a romantic relationship, but after a lot of thinking, I think I can do this. _

_ Your conditions are acceptable, and many of them mirror ones that I would have. I would like to start out slow, so that we can both get comfortable with this new arrangement, and so that we make sure no lines are inadvertently crossed.  For now, I do not want you to touch me unless you are ordered to do so by me.  I’m not sure how I feel about that yet. _

_ I’m sure you know my schedule better than I do.  Please let me know when you would like to begin. _

_ Molly _

She sent the email, and had a text from Sherlock about ten minutes later.

**Your flat, a week from tomorrow.  7pm.  Let me know if you have any requirements.**

oOo

The day before their scheduled session, Molly texted Sherlock to arrive wearing a suit and his aubergine dress shirt.  She expected a sarcastic remark about how he knew that was her favorite, but in line with their new dynamic, he simply replied with an acceptance of her terms.

During all this, they had continued their working relationship, working together efficiently and happily in the lab.  John had been with Sherlock on several occasions, and would have never thought there was anything going on between the two of them below the surface.  Sherlock still barged into Molly’s workspace making demands, and Molly acquiesced or didn’t, depending on how reasonable he was being.  Molly hadn’t been a shrinking violet in front of Sherlock in ages.  

The two of them chatted about things - cases, Mrs. Hudson’s latest beau, how big little Nora Watson was getting - and never once discussed their upcoming meeting.  

It was about 6pm that evening when Molly came out of her office after a long afternoon of paperwork, and found Sherlock in the lab, fiddling with a microscope.  “I’m headed home,” she said, shrugging out of her lab coat and hanging it on the hook.  

Sherlock looked up from the microscope.  “See you tomorrow.”

Molly tilted her head “I have the day off tomorrow.  Besides, I thought you were going to finish up this experiment today?”

Sherlock gave her a long look.

“Oh! Oh.  Yes.  Tomorrow.  Of course.  I didn’t think we were, uh, talking about that.”  Molly shifted her weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable.

“We’re alone, Molly.  I said I wanted it to be a secret, not that we couldn’t ever discuss it.  Unless you don’t want to…”

“No, it’s fine,” said Molly.  “I just ...we’re still feeling all this out and I wasn’t sure.”

Sherlock stood, walking over to her.  “Molly, if we’re going to do this, we need to be able to communicate.  It’s imperative. If you have questions, if you’re unsure of a boundary, you need to ask me.  And vice versa.”

Molly nodded.  “You’re right, I’m sorry.  I’ll see you tomorrow at 7.”

oOo

Molly sat in her sitting room, in a comfortable pair of black yoga pants and a loose fitting teeshirt.  She had taken a shower and left her hair down.  It made her feel more feminine and attractive.  She knew these sessions weren’t about her (although she couldn’t help but feel warm inside at Sherlock’s confession that sexual contact between them was not “unwelcome”) and she had no intention of letting Sherlock touch her tonight, much less removing any of her clothes.  But feeling attractive and strong was going a long way to alleviate the nervousness in the pit of her belly.

Right at 7, there was a knock at the door.  Molly stood, took a deep breath, and walked to the door.  She realized that a part of her hadn’t even believed Sherlock would show up, but apparently here he was.

She opened the door and stepped aside so he could enter.  He stood in the center of her sitting room, looking more nervous than she could ever remember seeing him.

“Sit,” she said, indicating the chair he usually sat in when he’d drop by to eat her food and annoy her.  

Without a word, he did so.  Molly closed her eyes and took a breath.  She could do this.  He wanted her to do this.  He’d  _ asked _ her to do this.

“When we are playing, I will call you Boy.  If you’re good, you will be Good Boy, or My Boy.  You will call me Miss Molly. You will answer questions when asked.  You will do what you’re told, unless you choose to safeword.  Your safeword will always be respected, and there will be no negative consequences to using it.  If you need me to slow down, say yellow.”

She paused, watching Sherlock’s face to make sure he’d gotten it all.  He nodded.  “What’s your safeword?”

“Cy..cyanide.”  The break in his voice went straight to her heart, and she shook her head, clearing her mind.  He wanted this.  This was for him.  This would keep him clean, keep him safe.  She loved him, and if this is what she needed to do to keep him safe, she would push away her feelings and be the friend he needed her to be.

“Good.”  She pushed her coffee table to one side, and then stood in front of the sofa.  This left the center of the sitting room completely open to her view.  “Stand up.”

Sherlock stood.  Molly circled around him slowly, drinking him in.  Sherlock stood proud, facing forward.

“You wore what I asked you to wear.  That’s a very good Boy.  You’re mine.  You will wear what I ask you to wear, you will do what I ask you to do.  No questions, no sarcasm, no comments.  In these sessions, you belong to me.  Any pleasure you receive is because I’ve decided you deserve it.  Do you understand?”  She came around to the front, staring up at the Detective.

He met her eyes.  “Yes, Miss Molly.”

She walked back over to the sofa and sat down.  “Now.  Let’s see how well behaved my Boy is.  Kneel.”

Molly was astonished at how fast Sherlock dropped to his knees.  She watched as his breath came faster, as his hands tightened into fists and relaxed again.  Yes, he was enjoying this immensely.

“You always look so neat and put together.  You’re very vain, Boy.  So vain.  I think I’d like to see you brought down a notch.”  She sat back, pretending to ponder.  She’d known exactly what she was going to do to him tonight for days, but she didn’t let on.

“Your fancy suits and your perfect hair.  You’d like us all to think you just woke up that way, but I’ve seen the inside of your bathroom.  I know how much product is in that hair.  Those messy curls are very carefully arranged.  That suit is bespoke. You may say you don’t care about the money, but that suit cost more than half my wardrobe put together.”  

He continued to kneel, eyes cast down, soaking up her words.  

She nodded, as if an idea had just occurred to her, and stood, disappearing into her bedroom.  She took longer than she needed to to grab a bag she’d left on her bed, and came back into the living room to find Sherlock still on his knees, facing the sofa.  

“Good Boy,” she said, dropping the shopping bag next to him.  “I’m going to go make myself some tea.  Change into these, and be back on your knees when I get back.”

She left the sitting room without even looking at him, without confirming that he’d do what she asked.  If he didn’t, he’d be punished, or he’d safeword, but she wasn’t going to make him believe he had an option to disobey without consequences.

She went into the kitchen and flicked on the kettle, and rummaged around for her favorite mug.  She stalled around a few extra minutes after she made her tea, making sure she’d given him enough time.  She came back into the sitting room to find him back on his knees, his suit and dress shirt crumpled on the floor.

“Oh, no. No, we aren’t going to treat such nice things so poorly.  Pick up your clothes.  You don’t want to have to go home rumpled, do you?”

“No, Miss Molly.  Sorry, Miss Molly,” said Sherlock, reaching for the clothes.  He neatly folded the trousers over the back of the chair he’d previously been sitting in, and walked over to her coat hooks to hang his jacket.  The dress shirt he neatly folded over the trousers.  He resumed his spot on his knees.

Only then did Molly give him a good looking over.  She’d provided him a pair of old, worn out track bottoms she’d found at a charity shop and washed.  They were a faded maroon.  The tee-shirt was an old band tee-shirt for some 80’s band she barely remembered.  “There we go.  Just some bloke in trackies and a tee-shirt.  No one special.  No expensive suits.”

Sherlock cast his eyes down.  Oh, yes.  This humiliated him.  She flashed back to a high Sherlock in a hoodie in her lab.  

 

“Last time I saw you like this I slapped you,” she said offhandedly.  His head jerked up at that, meeting hers.  His eyes flashed with something she couldn’t quite read yet.  Excitement? Terror?  Both?  Whatever it was, she liked it.  

 

“I’m not going to slap you, Sherlock.  Something tells me you’d like that too much. No, I’ve still got to bring you down a notch. She looked him over again.  “Touch yourself.  Through the bottoms.”

Sherlock paused.

“I SAID, touch yourself.  Now.  I won’t tell you again.”

Sherlock looked like he was ready to test her, but then his right hand moved to grip his cock through the tracksuit bottoms.  

After a few moments of awkward cupping and fondling, Molly began to see the outline of his cock through the thin material.  He palmed it, reluctantly at first but as his arousal built, he began to rub and stroke with more vigor.  

“Look at me while you’re doing that,” she said, and his eyes snapped to meet hers.  “Good Boy.  Look at you, touching your cock for me.  Such a dirty, dirty Boy.  On your knees with a handful of cock because that’s where I want you. Just a dirty, slutty Boy who’ll do anything I tell him to.  Does that feel good?”

Sherlock moaned out a “Yes, oh god, yes,” and Molly smiled.  She scooted to the edge of her seat, watching him. 

“Good Boy.  Do you masturbate at home?”

Sherlock was panting now, his hand working hard to get the right friction with two layers of clothing between himself and his hand.  “Yes.  In the,” he groaned, and struggled to finish. “Shower.  Less mess.”

Molly grinned.  Oh, this couldn’t have been more perfect.  “Not anymore you don’t.  Your orgasms are mine.  If you want to come, you have to schedule with me.  Is that understood?”  She wasn’t sure he’d agree to this - they’d agreed to keep things at their flats, but this might be more than he’d bargained for.  

Sherlock whined, his hand never slowing down.  “Yes, Miss Molly.  My orgasms belong to you.”

“I’m going to trust you,” she said, “But if I think you’re being naughty, we might have to consider other options.  Have you ever been in a cock cage, Boy?”

That did it.  Sherlock’s eyes snapped shut and with a groan and a shout he emptied himself into his pants.  He opened his eyes, meeting Molly’s as she watched the wetness spread across his crotch.  

“Messy Boy,” she said, standing.  “Look at the mess you made.  I bet you’d like to change and get cleaned up.”

Sherlock nodded, squirming as his semen cooled against his skin.

“Too bad,” she said, walking over to him.  “I like this look on you.”

Sherlock whined again.  Molly could get used to that sound. 

“Stand up.”

Sherlock stood, obviously uncomfortable.  Molly stepped closer.  Sherlock watched her like a hawk, wondering what she’d do next.  “You don’t like coming in your pants?”

“No, Miss Molly,” said Sherlock.  

“Well, then if you’re good from now on, we won’t need to do this again.  But if you’re naughty, you will.  And I’ll make you stay in it until it’s time for our session to end.  And if you’re VERY naughty, I’ll make you stain your suit.”

 

Sherlock’s eyes went wide.  “I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good.”

“I know you will,” she said, reaching out and running a hand down his chest.  “You’ll be my very good boy.”

Sherlock nodded.  

“Go take a shower.” she said, turning and walking back to the sofa.  “There’s a towel in there for you.  Get dressed afterwards.”

Sherlock scooped up his clothing and walked to the bathroom.  Molly enjoyed watching him try to walk in the wet, sticky trackies.  Yes, this was going to be alright.

When he emerged from the shower, his hair still slightly wet but back in his suit, Molly was curled up reading a book. “There we go.  Good Boy.  Now you look nice enough to go back outside.  Go home.  Text me with our next appointment.”

Sherlock opened his mouth, but she gave him a look, and it snapped shut again.  “Yes, Miss Molly.”

“This was just testing the waters, Boy.  There’ll be more.  But we can’t rush into things.  Go home.  Set up another time.”

He nodded, and walked to the door.  “Thank you, Miss Molly,” he said, and left the flat before waiting for a response.

Molly collapsed back against the sofa, sighing. She’d done it.  She’d humiliated Sherlock Holmes, she’d given him the orgasm he was clearly craving, and she’d managed to do it without embarrassing herself. 

  
She was only slightly surprised to realize how aroused she was from their short play session. Hopefully she would grow comfortable enough to indulge herself during their sessions soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had some quiet time today, and so here's another chapter.  
> Molly grows more bold.
> 
> (WARNING: There's a NSFW image at the end of this chapter that was made by the lovely Cumbercougers on Tumblr!)

Molly was relieved to see life continue as usual after her evening with Sherlock.  She worked the next day, and Sherlock, Greg and John came in in the late afternoon to view a body.  The victim was young, and the death was suspicious. Molly had performed a routine autopsy and despite her best efforts, had not been able to come up with anything other than “Natural Causes” for the death.  

Enter the great Sherlock Holmes, who of course had sussed it out in ten minutes. They left, off to collect their suspect, and Molly set about closing up the body and getting ready to turn it back over to the family. Molly was generally glad when Sherlock figured out something she couldn’t; she felt that the family deserved all the answers, and it didn’t matter who provided them.

Today, however, she couldn’t help but feel like Sherlock had been showing off more than usual.  Maybe it was just their new dynamic, and she had been watching for it, or maybe he’d specifically been pushing her buttons. Either way, they didn’t have a session planned and she wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted to do next, anyway.  

“And,” she told herself as she pushed the body back into the cooling drawer, “It’s not like Sherlock needs an excuse to be a prat.”

She arrived back at her flat, balancing a take out curry in one hand as she tried to dig into her oversized bag for her keys.  She got the door open and tossed her keys on the small side table near the door.  As she did, she saw an envelope on the table, with her name on it in Sherlock’s unmistakable scrawl.

She idly wondered if she could make entering her flat without permission a punishable offense during their playtimes.  She glared at the envelope and went into the kitchen, placing the curry on the small kitchen table. Forcing herself to feed Toby before she investigated the envelope, she reached into the cupboard to find a tin of cat food.  Once Toby was greedily eating and she had refreshed his water bowl, she went back into her sitting room and picked up the envelope, sliding a finger under the flap and opening it.

When she pulled out the note, a credit card fell out into her lap.  It had her name on it.  She unfolded the note and read.

 

_Molly,_

_This card is connected to one of my accounts.  If you require any supplies for our sessions, please use this card._

_I quite enjoyed our last session and look forward to the next, which I would like to schedule for Thursday afternoon.  I have some experiments to do at the lab that morning, and I know you’re working the overnight Wednesday.  3:00 pm will give me time to complete my work, and you time to get some sleep after your shift._

_Please advise if this works for you._

_Sherlock_

 

Molly turned the card over in her hands while re-reading the note.  She was happy for the confirmation that their last session had been enjoyable for Sherlock. After he’d left, she had started to have second thoughts about it. Perhaps it had been too tame. Perhaps he’d been looking for something more than she was able to give him this early into their new ...agreement.

Thursday was only four days away. Molly vaguely wondered if the five day turn around between session was because he had enjoyed it so much, or the opposite.  Catching her train of thought, she forced herself to re-read the note Sherlock had left for her.  He had “quite enjoyed” their last session.  She pushed away the negative thoughts and stood, putting the credit card into her wallet before going to dish out her own dinner.  She didn’t have time to have anything delivered between now and Thursday anyway, so there was no rush. She blushed crimson at the idea of going and buying the types of implements she had in mind in person. Tom had taken her to a sex shop once, and although she’d quite enjoyed the _use_ of the items, she was in no hurry to have to look someone in the eye while buying them.  

She ate her curry quickly, shoving the leftovers into the fridge to take to work the next day for lunch. She took her Kindle to bed, reading over some items she’d bookmarked in her initial research, trying to decide what to do for their next session.

Monday after work, Molly pulled out her laptop and went to her go-to toy shop website.  She had tossed out a lot of things after she and Tom had broken up - even items that could have easily been sterilized. Part of her didn’t think she’d have much use for those sorts of items, but mostly, if she were honest, she just didn’t want anything in her flat that remotely reminded her of Tom.

What she wouldn’t let herself realize was that she felt guilty. There hadn’t been anything wrong with Tom. He’d loved her, their sex life was fulfilling, her sister had even approved of him. But then Sherlock came back and he Wasn’t Sherlock and it had all just unraveled.

She ordered a new set of restraints, and then a riding crop.  She thought back to the day she’d watched Sherlock with the riding crop in her morgue. She hadn’t been sure, back then, whether she’d wanted to be under the riding crop, or wielding it.  If nothing else, her relationship with Tom had helped her figure out which she wanted.

She spent some time looking at cock cages. Given that the mere mention of one had tipped Sherlock over into orgasm, she had no doubt that there would come a time where one would come into play. Having no practical experience, she decided to put off ordering one until she’d done some further research, and had a conversation with Sherlock regarding it. It was possible he already had one that he’d used in the past.

She made some other purchases and then checked out, inputting the credit card information that Sherlock had provided to her.

Pulling out her phone, she texted Sherlock the total, but not the contents of her order. A quick “Thank you” was the only response she received. He hadn’t told her to tell him how much she’d spent, but she felt like it was the responsible thing to do. She would have just forwarded him the receipt, but what fun was that, if he knew what sort of toys she had in her arsenal?

She went into the bedroom and pulled out her personal box of toys, debating what was in there that could be used in their sessions. Once she’d sorted that stuff out into two boxes, she shoved both of them back under her bed.

Now she just had to decide how Thursday was going to go.

oOoOo

She had sent an alarm for 1pm after collapsing into bed at 7am, but she woke at noon, wide awake and thrumming with nervous excitement. She showered and then changed the sheets on her bed, carefully arranging everything she’d need for later this afternoon into the drawer of her bedside table.

Now she just had to wait for 3 o’clock to get here.  

oOoOo

At 3:00 on the dot, there was a knock on her door.  She stood and opened it, allowing Sherlock to enter before closing the door behind him.

Then she pounced.

“Knees,” she said, enjoying how his face went from surprise, to anger, to acquiescence within a split second.  He dropped to his knees, and she stood over him, as he gazed up at her.

“New rule,” she said, sliding her fingers into his hair. (Dear lord, how did his hair stay so soft with everything he put in it? she idly wondered)  She tightened her fingers just slightly, just enough for him to feel the pull.  “You do not enter my flat without permission.”

“I was just…” he began.  She tightened her hold in his hair, pulling harder.  “Yes, Miss Molly,” he said.  She held her grip a few seconds longer, and then released him.

She backed up.  “Stand up, and go into my bedroom,” she said.  He caught her eyes, and she could see the curiosity in his gaze.  “All will be revealed, Sherlock.  Go.”  She slipped a hand around his waist, nudging him to turn around and go. He went.  She followed.

He stopped, standing in the center of the room.  She came in and closed the door after nudging a cranky Toby out into the hallway with her foot.  

“Undress down to your pants,” she said. “Slowly. Usually when I get to see your skin, you’re bleeding somewhere. I want to enjoy it for once.”

Sherlock smirked, but obeyed, hands going to the buttons of his dress shirt and slowly unbuttoning them. He left the shirt hanging open to deal with the buttons on his cuffs, and Molly drank it all in, once again surprised by both the scarcity of the hair on Sherlock’s chest, and the fact that it was a great deal lighter than the hair on his head. She wondered what would be revealed about hair on other parts of his body, parts she had never seen while stitching up his latest wounds that he hadn’t wanted to go to John about.

She looked back up again at his face as he shrugged out of the shirt, and saw that he had been watching her admire his chest. “Such a pretty Boy,” she said, smiling at him. “You’ve been working out,”

Sherlock smiled an almost-shy smile before reaching down again to unclasp his pants. Molly bit her lip and her eyes slid down to his waist. If part of his enjoyment in their games was her enjoyment, then she wasn’t going to spend any time at all hiding it.

He slowly lowered his zip, and then slid his trousers off his thin hips. They slid to the floor, puddling around his ankles.  Molly took a moment to enjoy the fact that he was half-hard already, just from being under her scrutiny, and then stepped to him again.  “Lay down on the bed.  I’ll take care of your clothes.”

He did so, and she picked up his pants and shirt, laying them over the chair to her small vanity.  She looked over at him, stretched out on her bed.  It wasn’t the first time he’d been in her bed - her small guest room only had a futon, and he’d complained endlessly about having to sleep there on the nights he’d spent at her flat until finally she’d just given up. On those nights she took the futon, and he took her much larger and more comfortable bed.

But if he’d been almost naked in her bed on those nights, she had no idea.  She’d certainly spent a lot of time thinking about it, especially after he’d left and her sheets smelled of him.  Thought about it with her hand between her legs.

Right, she thought, dragging her thoughts back to the present.  He’s in your bed and at your mercy, so don’t waste time!

“Take your socks off,” she said, coming to the foot of the bed. He sat up and removed them, and then laid back down, watching her like a hawk. Molly dragged her eyes up and down his form, drinking in the beautiful sight before her.  “So pretty.  And Mine.”  She stepped to the side of the bed, and his head turned to follow her.

She pulled the blindfold out of the drawer and showed it to him before climbing up on the bed and leaning over to tie it around his head. Her breasts brushed against his chest as she leaned over, and she was pleased to hear his hissing intake of breath.  She stepped back once it was securely on, and stood next to him once more.

“I was incredibly aroused when you left last time,” she said.  “A mistake I don’t intend to make again.”

Sherlock licked his lips, “Oh, Miss Molly.  I never want to leave you unsatisfied. What can I do for you, Miss Molly?”

Molly’s head spun with all the things Sherlock could do for her, but she wasn’t ready to cross that line yet.  However, she had enjoyed watching Sherlock touch himself last week.

“Have you been good this week?” she asked, ignoring his question.  “Did you touch yourself?”

“No, Miss Molly.”

“I touched myself,” she said off-handedly.  “I touched myself thinking about you stroking your cock for me.”

Sherlock squirmed, and Molly was happy to see his cock grow even harder in his pants.

“Does it turn you on to think about me getting off to the memory of you messing your pants on my sitting room floor? Does it turn you on to think about me only reaching down between my legs once you were gone?  Denying you that?”

Sherlock squirmed, and his right hand drifted up from beside him, toward his cock. Molly reached up and smacked it away.  “No,” she said.  “I didn’t tell you you could touch yourself.  I quite enjoy watching you squirm.”

Sherlock keened, and Molly had to close her eyes for a moment, her arousal threatening to toss all her plans away.  She took a few deep breaths, taking control of herself again.  “Take off your pants.  And don’t touch yourself any more than you have to.  I’m watching.”

Sherlock’s hands slid to the waistband of his pants, and he slid them off.  Molly let him hear her gasp as his cock came into view.  Thick but not overly long, it jutted up for a moment as it was released, and then relaxed against his abdomen.  Sherlock used his feet to pull the pants the rest of the way down and off of his legs.

Molly’s mouth practically watered as she gazed upon it.  She’d been right, his pubic hair was the same slightly-ginger as his chest hair.  She idly wondered if he dyed his hair, but decided that was a mystery for another day.  

Without saying a word, she pulled her teeshirt off over her head and slipped her yoga pants off.  Sherlock’s head turned toward her.  He could tell what she was doing.  She smiled.  “That’s right,” she said, unhooking her bra and letting that fall to the ground as well, before pushing down her own pants.  “I’m naked.”

Sherlock’s hands fluttered at his side, unsure of where they wanted to be.  

“I can see your hands are going to be a problem,” she said, moving closer to the bed again.  “We’ll have to deal with that.”  She reached into the bedside table once more, pulling out a pair of neoprene cuffs.  She lifted Sherlock’s left hand and slid the cuffs onto it, adjusting the velcro until it was snug but not constrictive.  She moved to the other side of the bed doing the same to his right hand.  “Hands over your head,” she said.  “Make sure you’re comfortable.”

Sherlock reached up, crossing his wrists over each other above his head.  Molly took a moment to appreciate how the pull of his arms enhanced the view of his chest, and then hooked the two cuffs together.  “Is that comfortable?”

“Yes, Miss Molly,” said Sherlock wiggling a bit and making sure.  

“Please safeword if you become uncomfortable at all.” said Molly, returning to the other side of the bed.  She reached into the drawer for the last item she would need today, and then climbed up onto the bed, kneeling next to Sherlock.  

“You have such a pretty cock,” she said, lifting up to straddle his legs along his thighs, being careful that her body didn’t touch his balls at all.  Sherlock moaned.  “I could just stare at it for days.”

Molly lifted up onto her knees, her legs spread just enough to keep Sherlock’s thighs between her legs.  “Such a beautiful cock, and it belongs to me.”  Sherlock’s hips jerked.  

“Your cock turns me on,” she said, shifting the item in her hand.  “So I’m going to take care of myself.”

With that, she flicked the switch on the small vibrator she’d been holding, and slid it between her legs.  She’d chosen this one specifically because while it made enough noise that Sherlock would know what she had, it was quiet enough that very quickly, he could hear the wet noises she made sliding it between her lips.  She gyrated her hips against it, knowing Sherlock could feel her squirming above him as she teased herself with the vibrator.

Sherlock’s face contorted in tortured agony as she continued to run the vibrator over her clit and through her folds, her breath catching.  

“I see your hands,” she said, “How much do your cock ache, Boy?  How badly do you want to touch it?”  Before he could answer, she straightened up higher so she could plunge the vibrator into her dripping cunt.  The moan that tore from her lips sent Sherlock into a bucking frenzy, the head of his cock glistening with the beginning of precum.  

“Ohhhhh,” he moaned, unable to form words.  Molly pulled the vibrator out and ground it against her clit, letting him hear her wetness in between her moans.  

Molly watched Sherlock’s face, her orgasm building even faster than she thought was possible.  On a whim, she removed the vibrator from between her legs and shut it off.  Sherlock’s expression froze, listening, deducing, trying to decide what she was going to do next.

“Do you want to taste me?” she asked, a little shyer than she’d intended.  If Sherlock noticed the lack of confidence in her question, he didn’t comment.  He simply said “Oh, please, Miss Molly, if that would please you I would love to taste you.  You sound so wet and delicious.”

Despite the utter temptation to just climb onto his face and have him get her off with his tongue, Molly reached out with the phallus shaped vibrator and gently placed it on his lower lip.  As she leaned, her body brushed up against Sherlock’s dripping cock, and he groaned.  Molly took the opportunity to slide the vibrator into his mouth.  Sherlock’s lips locked around it immediately, sucking and licking and bucking his hips against her, trying to find some friction while he sucked her juices off of the vibrator.  Molly indulged him for a moment, enjoying the look of her toy in Sherlock’s overly-eager mouth, but she pulled back and sat up before he could get too much sensation.

Plunging the vibrator back into her, Molly rode out her orgasm while telling Sherlock exactly how hot watching him lap up her juices had been. How much his cock turned her on. How lovely the growing pool of precum on his abdomen was, and how tempted she was to lick it off of him.  The entire time, Sherlock moaned and whined and bucked his hips, desperate for touch, desperate for some friction on his cock.  

When Molly finished, she turned the vibrator off and dropped it next to her on the bed.  Sherlock’s mouth opened, and she knew he wanted more, but she had more important things on her mind.  “Give me your hands,” she said, after a moment to catch her breath.Sherlock eagerly brought his hands down to his abdomen where she could reach and detach the two cuffs.  Sherlock dutifully kept his hands in the air above his abdomen, and Molly slowly lowered herself, her satisfied cunt now resting in the hollow between his thighs.

“Touch yourself,” she said, smiling at how quickly his right hand snapped to his cock, fisting it.  “But use that mouth of yours.  I want to hear how much you enjoy it.  I want to hear how good it feels to touch your cock now that you’re allowed to.”

Sherlock’s left hand went to his thigh, almost but not touching Molly.  She watched it, wondering how she’d react if he tried to touch her.  But he remembered her rules, and made sure that he didn’t, and her eyes traveled back to his cock.

“Oh, Miss Molly.  I’m so happy that you were able to get off today.  I’m so pleased that you used my body to get off.  It feels so good to touch my cock, knowing that I took care of you first.  And you taste so good, Miss Molly.  Maybe if I’m really good you’ll let me taste you directly.  I’d love to eat your pussy, Miss Molly.  Thank you for using me, Miss Molly.”

Sherlock’s words devolved into babbling as he fisted his cock.  Molly couldn’t decide if she liked watching his hand on his cock, or the look on his face more, and her eyes darted back and forth as he bucked under her, slamming his cock up into his fist.  His words became unintelligible as he grew closer to his orgasm until finally he froze, lifting his head off the bed and looking towards her, even beneath the blindfold. “Oh, Miss Molly,” he cried, “Please may I come?”

“Yes, my Sweet Boy, come for me.  Come for Miss Molly,”  she said, and he did, spilling over his hand onto his abdomen.  His head fell back against the pillow, and Molly drank in the sight of the sated, relaxed Sherlock Holmes.  “Just stay there,” she said, climbing off of him. “I’ll take care of you.”

She went into the bathroom and after wrapping herself up in her dressing gown, she got a cup of water and a warm flannel, and brought them back to the bedroom.  Putting the glass on the table, she began to clean Sherlock up, taking care to clean up his hand and his abdomen as well as his cock. She dropped the flannel onto the floor, and then told Sherlock to sit up on the bed.  He did so, and she handed him the cup of water. He drank, and after she took the empty cup back from him she gently removed the blindfold from his eyes.  

The look of adoration in his eyes when he turned to her made her gasp, but she recovered quickly, reaching up to drop a gentle kiss on his cheek.  “You okay?” she asked quietly.

Sherlock took a deep breath and smiled down at her, one of his few, genuine smiles.  “I am now,” he said.

Molly leaned her head against his chest, and Sherlock cautiously wrapped one arm around her. “Is this okay?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said quietly, holding her.  

They stayed that way, silently, for quite some time before Molly could tell Sherlock was getting antsy.  She slipped out from under his arm, standing up. “I’ll just let you get dressed, then,” she said.  She collected up her own clothing before making her way into the bathroom and getting dressed.

When Sherlock emerged from the bedroom, Molly was in the kitchen. “Tea?” she asked.  

“No,” said Sherlock, his earlier gentleness erased from his features.  “I have to get home.”

“Okay,” she said.  “See you around.”

“I’m sure you will,” he said, and swept out of her flat without looking back.

 

 

And now we get a lovely photomanip that Cumbercougers on tumblr made for this chapter!


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